The Price Of Freedom II
by Jonathan
Summary: I can't say this one, I would be giving out the story itself
1. Airborne Response

The Price Of Freedom II  
-Jonathan  
The Soviet invasion of America has finally been countered. We now hold the offensive, pushing them out of our country. American casulties have remained high, but morale has not fallen...  
  
Chapter 1, Airborne Response  
  
Hearing the morning call, I get out of my bed, and dress myself quickly. The CO has summoned us for another mission, most likely.  
With his normal attitude, he yells "GET YOUR ASSES INTO MY BREIFING ROOM, NOW!" over the comm system. I run out of my room, knocking someone over on the way into the hall. After a few minutes, I reach the meeting. The CO yells at us, as is the norm here at Eglin AFB. "All right, you little pukes did pretty well on that last strike. The Russkie armored column didn't last 5 minutes against you. Cheers arise from the men. His tone of voice softens. "Your next mission is as follows. You will proceed to the Gulf, with aerial refueling awaiting your arrival. You will then attack a Russian\Mexican air base. Any questions?" The joker at back replied to him. "Yes sir!", sounding more like Gomer Pyle than anyone I've heard. Angrily, the CO yells at him. "Alright, you dumbass. Get your little butt up here, and push!" Everyone starts laughing at him. "Now, for the rest of you, suit up, and get out of here. Dismissed."  
The whole room answers "YES SIR!", and runs off to their lockers...  
  
After I get my flight gear on, I run out to the tarmac, watching my airman do another check on my A\V-8B Harrier. I salute him, and he returns it. I climb up the ladder, watching the men run to their aircraft. I crawl into the cockpit, closing the canopy over my head. Flipping a few switches, the engine roars to life. I salute my airman once more. "Tower, this is Alpha one niner, requesting takeoff clearence." Shortly afterwards, the tower responds. "Alpha one niner, this is tower. Contact AWACS on depature, cleared for takeoff. Squawk 1589". "Rodger that, tower. Cleared for takeoff, squawk 1589.". With that, I adjust the engine nozzles downward, lifting the aircraft up into the air. Soon, my wingmen join me, flying southwest over the city of Destin, headed towards Mexico, and our ultimate objective...  
  
After a few hours, the AWACS aircraft contacts us. "Alpha one niner, radar contact. Keep your bearing, link up with Kilo Charlie, 15 klicks southwest.". "Affirmative. Linking up with Kilo Charlie.". I get a visual sighting of the KC-135 tanker, and our squadron acclerates forward to intercept the fuel probe. With a careful hand, I guide the refueling probe into the receptacle on my Harrier, and begin recieving it. 5 minutes pass, and the probe detaches from the port, moving onward for the next aircraft. We all get the tanks topped off, and move onward towards Mexico. "Alpha one niner, good luck..."  
  
  
  



	2. Conflicting Rage

Chapter 2, Conflicting Rage  
  
The battle has started... "This is Alpha one niner, moving to intercept the enemy. ETA 3 minutes." Flak starts to blossom, very large, black clouds of death. They puff large spheres, throwing shrapnel at our aircraft. "Bravo five, move to engage. Flak guns at 4 o'clock low". "Rodger that, Alpha one niner. Move to engage.". The wingman turns inverse, manuvering towards the base itself. I pull a hard right, firing a Maverick missile at a Soviet tank. Pulling the throttles back, I line up for a bombing run on their radar installation. I let loose my stick of bombs on the site, watching the radar explode into a ball of fire. Turning upward, the flak explodes around me, vibrating the aircraft violently. It begins to shake worse, and the controls are useless. More flak blooms around the crippled Harrier, with shrapnel from the black clouds piercing the aircraft's thin skin. "Bravo, I'm hit! She's coming apart! I... I can't control it! OH *HIT! EJECT EJECT EJECT!" As I pull the eject lever between my knees, the canopy blows off. The ejection seat rockets me out of the aircraft, still flying almost vertical. A flak cloud bursts near it, causing the crippled Harrier to explode in a tremendous ball of fire. I look downward, watching the Soviet flak guns attack my wingman. Huge balls of flak blow up around him, thundering loudly with their explosions. As I fall, some Russian soldiers take notice of me, and start to fire up towards my descending form. I pull out my .45 caliber pistol, and return fire at them. Landing in a cluster of trees, the Russian soldiers cease to fire, and demand that I surrender. My only response is pistol fire from the treetop. I run out of ammunition after a minute. Swearing under my breath, I unstrap myself from the ejection seat. I begin to climb off of the branch that holds it. Suddenly, the branch breaks, sending me down towards the bottom of the 20 foot tree. I land with a large thump, knocked unconsious...  
  
The Russian soldiers walk over to my still form. One pokes me with a sharp stick. The pain causes me to awaken. Rolling over, I look at the two soldiers standing before me. The taller one spoke with a thick Russian accent. "Surrender to us now, and you shall live in our Socialist paradise.". "Go to hell, you Communist sonofabitch." I reply. They bash my head with their wooden rifle stocks, finally shooting me in the face. My body jerks violently for a moment, then lies limp. The taller Russian spits on me, and they both walk off laughing... 


End file.
